“No soap, Mr. Huff. Pitre didn't go for it.”
Juke Charpentier said these words with as much nonchalance as he could muster, though he felt the opposite. In fact, he was fortified with three Bloody Marys he'd slugged down at the Alibi just an hour before, and two cups of extra-strong coffee poured for him by Louella LaBoeuf as he'd paced Tom Huff 's outer office like a caged animal, trying to ratchet up his courage. Now he stared down at the floor, knowing what was coming.
The look on Huff 's face was hard to read at first, because Huff had actually thought Juke would pull this mission off. On a personal level, Juke was no doubt a loathsome person. But Huff had come to believe that his troubleshooter, with his liberal attitude toward spending the company's money and his unflinching willingness to lie, wheedle, and bully for the corporate good, possessed a certain weasely competence. He was prepared to abuse Juke for overspending for the prize, but he'd already factored in the extra money.
A no, however, was unacceptable.
“You're jokin’, right?” said Huff, who could already feel the blood rushing to his head. “This better be a joke.”
“No joke,” said Juke, filling Huff in on Justin's reasons for turning down the offer.
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Huff, his voice rising. “This was after the first offer?”
“After every offer. I threw the whole damn gumbo pot at him. I offered him a year's pay. I, uh—”
“You did what?” Huff thundered. “Who the hell told you that you could offer anybody a year's pay?”
“Nobody. But I knew better than to come back here without that signed paper. Didn't do me no good.”
“Let me get this straight. You offered this stupid coonass a whole damn year's salary for a miserable right-of-way through his miserable damn piece of marsh, and he told you no?”
“No,” Juke replied. “Not just no. He said no, not for fifteen thousand dollars, not for twenty thousand dollars, not for nuttin’. He said he ain't got nut-tin’ against us but nuttin’ will make him change his mind.”
“Well, he goddam will change it!” Huff thundered again. “We've made him a goddam generous offer and he goddam well will take it or that's his sorry ass!”
Juke shrugged in resignation. “You tell me what to do, Mr. Huff, and I'll do it. You can talk to the man yourself. He suggested we just get the right-ofway from Oka-Tex. I mean, if you look at the map—”
“I don't have to look at the friggin’ map!” Huff screamed. “I've memorized the goddam map and I'll stake my sorry ass out on a red-ant pile before I go cozyin’ up to that candy-ass Randy Penwell.”
Juke shrugged again. “Well, I got Pitre's phone number if you wanna call him. I tried to tell the man that you wouldn't take no for an answer.”
Huff shook his head. The rage had drained from his voice, replaced by a steely dismissiveness. “You're a moron, Juke. Okay, you dial the number and get Justin Pitre on the phone right now. I'm gonna talk some sense into him.”
“Yes sir,” said Juke.
He pulled a rumpled piece of paper from his pocket, walked to Huff 's desk, picked up the phone, and dialed the number scrawled on the paper.
Justin picked up on the second ring.
“Justin, this is Juke Charpentier. Just to follow up on our conversation yesterday, Mr. Huff would like to have a word with you.”
He handed the receiver to Huff, who cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and motioned for Juke to leave the room.
Secretly relieved, Charpentier retreated into Louella's office, closing the heavy doors behind him.
“He took it well, huh?” said Louella.
“Phew,” said Juke. “If you dragged me buck naked down the Bayou Go-to-Hell shell road, I wouldn't have worse butt burn.”
Louella flinched—God, that image would now be stuck in her mind all day.
Two minutes later, it was clear from the snarl coming through the thick mahogany doors that the phone call hadn't done any good. Juke and Loretta could hear Huff plain as day: “Listen to me, Pitre, and listen to me good! You might not give a rat's ass who you're talkin’ to now, but you're gonna give a rat's ass when I get done with you! We need that right-of-way and we need it now, you hear me!”
There was an ominous silence, and then, “What?! What? Who you callin’ a sawed-off prick! Who—”
Then a sudden silence.
Louella counted to three and raised her finger at the exact moment an object thudded loudly against Huff 's closed door.
“Right on time,” Louella said to Juke. “Third phone this year.”
Huff 's beefy red face suddenly appeared in the doorway. His eyes were bulging, sweat drenched his forehead, and his jaw was clenched. But his words were strangely calm. “Juke, find out everything you can about Justin Pitre, and I mean absolutely everything. His wife, his parents, what he eats for supper, his dog. Everything!”
Huff slammed the door shut, then opened it again. “And I want it yesterday.”
The door banged closed like a thunderclap.
“Yes sir,” Juke said. “I'm right on it.”
Juke could already tell Huff plenty about the Pitres’ damned dog. But he was pretty sure that wasn't what Li'l Huff-'n’-Puff had in mind.